


Bring Me a Flower

by truthtakestime



Category: Elektra (2005), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Memories, Paranoia, Roses, hideout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:40:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/truthtakestime/pseuds/truthtakestime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is absolutely no logical reason for her to be afraid. But logic, fear, and roses have never made much sense, in any case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring Me a Flower

**Author's Note:**

> Written ages ago, recently re-discovered. I found I still liked it. Also, McCabe is a joy to write. *wink*

Elektra pulled up in the dirt driveway of a tiny house and climbed out of the truck. Leaving the motor running, she gave the property a quick scan, examining the small, overgrown backyard and glancing in the windows, listening carefully for any sounds not her own. For a moment she closed her eyes and just breathed, looking for danger; but all that she could see was herself. When she was satisfied that the property was safe, she jerked the keys and her bag out of the truck and climbed the rickety wooden porch. There was an envelope taped inside the ripped screen door. 

Inside, she found a note and a key. The former was scribbled in hasty but familiar handwriting. 

_E,_  
You said you wanted out of the way, right? I stocked the fridge for you.  
McCabe 

She rolled her eyes and crumpled the note into her pocket. _McCabe_. Impatiently, she fitted the key into the lock on the door and stepped inside. 

The abandoned appearance of the house from the outside was not echoed within. The furniture, the colors and appliances were all dated and used, but the overall feeling of the house was that it had been cared for. Elektra allowed herself a brief moment to wonder if it had been McCabe's idea to clean up the place or if it was simply well-preserved. But after a moment she shook the thought from her head and got down to business.

A quick exploration of the house showed four rooms on two floors; living room and kitchen downstairs, bedroom and bathroom above. Not quite the luxury in which she had once lived, but she was accustomed at this point to surviving with far less, and she was satisfied, if not overjoyed with McCabe's choice. It would do until the next job, at least. For now that would have to be enough. 

Once she'd completed her tour, she set the house in order. Her bag and weapons went in the bedroom closet; the bed was remade so that every fold of quilt and sheet was perfect. Toiletries were arranged on the small bathroom counter in perfect order, bottles lined up by size. Downstairs was swept and scrubbed, and the refrigerator completely rearranged; McCabe had no sense of order when it came to those things. Silverware, dishes, pots and pans were scrubbed sparkling and polished when necessary, and the cabinets were arranged and rearranged until their appearance suited her. By the time she was satisfied with her new home, it had grown dark and cool. 

In spite of McCabe's promises, Elektra wasn't convinced that the house was as safe as he said it was. She locked the doors and the downstairs windows, shut the curtains, and limited herself to the light of one candle. She wasn't sure she trusted the electric lights in this place, anyways. On a whim, she took her Sai from their case upstairs and set them on the kitchen table. Then, having run out of ways to occupy herself, she took an apple from the fridge and sat down. 

Three bites into the fruit, she was startled by the sound of a clock striking in the house. The apple fell from her hand and rolled under the table as she started to her feet, before remembering that there was an old grandfather clock in the next room. She cursed herself as her muscles relaxed; since when had she become so jumpy? The clock must have sounded half a dozen times since she'd arrived. _Idiot_. She listened until the chiming had fully faded, surprised to find that it was only seven thirty. It felt like midnight. 

She sighed as she knelt to retrieve the apple from under the table. “This is going to be a long night.” 

.o.v.o.v.o.

Five thirty in the morning brought the first rays of sunshine through the faded curtains in the bedroom. Opening her eyes, Elektra spent a moment perfectly still as she listened. She wasn't sure exactly what it was, but she knew that she hadn't been woken up by the morning. 

After a moment, she heard the telltale sound again; the screen door being quietly shut. She sat straight up. _There had been someone in her house!_ Elektra slid out of bed and retrieved her Sai from the bedside table – they'd never quite made it back into their case after her uneasiness last night – and crept silently down the stairs. Using Kimoguri had showed her no one in the house, but that didn't mean that she was safe. 

It didn't take her long to determine that there had been no traps set for her. Once again, it sent her cursing herself for foolishness. There was no one there, and if there had been then she had slept too deep and would have deserved whatever might have happened to her. _And last night you were afraid of insomnia_ , she scolded herself. _Screw it! Being alone with your demons is better than being dead._

With a frustrated sigh, she turned to head back up the stairs, but something on the kitchen table caught her eye. There was a delicate crystal vase in the middle of its surface that hadn't been there the night before. Filling it, so many that they formed a lip over the side of the vase, were blood-red roses. She gasped, and her Sai clattered to the ground. 

Unbidden, images rose in her mind, vivid and impossible to control. _Roses in Mom's garden, on my father's grave, from Bullseye to mark his kill. To kill me._ The world grew hazy before her, and while the rational part of her understood that roses were just roses, she was so overwhelmed by the memories and the rush of feelings from the night she'd died that that pinch of sanity was quickly drowned out. 

She lashed out and tore at the flowers, scattering petals and tearing stems apart, ignoring the thorns that ripped long gashes in her hands. She was determined to get rid of the sign of death that someone had left in her house. Last time had been different, but _she_ was different now. She was _better_. This time, she wasn't going to go gently. She swept the vase off the table and smiled in grim satisfaction as it shattered across the floor.

“What are you doing, E?” 

Elektra whipped around, hair flying, and found herself facing her intruder. She gasped, feeling the irrational rage slide away. “McCabe?”

“Last time I checked, yeah.” He glanced at the mess that she had made. “I see you liked my housewarming gift,” he commented dryly. “Next time I'll bring a mop.”

As she ran back through the scenario in her head, she remembered that this was not the first time McCabe had walked into her house unannounced. She realized that there had also been a card with the flowers, but a little white paper had been the farthest thing from her mind when she was revisiting the night of her death. She glanced around for it now, and made it out under the table. His signature and the word “present” were visible, though the spilled water had made the ink run. Realizing that she had acted truly foolishly, but not willing to admit it, she gave McCabe a softer glare than usual. “Sorry,” she offered. “I thought it was from someone else.” 

“Wow. Remind me not to get on whatever side of you this guy is, okay? What did he do to you that was so bad, anyways?” 

She hesitated a second. McCabe knew the generalities of her second life, but she wasn't about to give him any more information than he already had. She went for the easiest response. “He knew I hated roses.” 

Elektra was satisfied to see him swallow nervously, but he handled it quite well. “You know, you could've told me nicely before you broke the vase and destroyed half your kitchen. I could have brought daisies or something.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “No more flowers, McCabe.” 

“Okay, okay! No more flowers,” he agreed. Then he sighed, glancing her over. “You know, you'd really better do something about your hands. I don't know how you feel about bloodstains on the floor, but it's not really the look that I'd go for...” 

Elektra glanced down at her hands, mildly surprised at how much the stems had torn her up. _I barely even felt it_. The scratches even covered the scar in her palm. In the back of her mind, she found herself suddenly grateful for the wounds; for the moment, they were a distraction from the past.

Meeting McCabe's eyes again, she wiped her palms on her sweatpants. “I'm fine,” she snapped. “It's just a few scratches.” She spoke darkly, hoping he would take the hint; but he look that he gave her was disapproving, and she had a feeling that he was questioning her sanity. She didn't care. _Let him wonder._ He was smart, he would have no trouble coming to the correct conclusion. She didn't want his help.

“Are you sure?” he persisted. Elektra was surprised; it had been a long time since he had argued with her. Argued seriously, anyways. She was fairly certain that he still had scars from the last time. “You know I don't like to get in your business, but you don't look so good.”

“Get out.”

“Look, do you want me to pick you up anything? There's a market a couple of miles up the road...”

“ _Out_ ,” she repeated, pointing towards the door. “Call me first next time.”

“Okay,” finally he obeyed, pausing at the door. “Call me if you change your mind.” He dodged one of her Sai as it whipped through the air towards him, and ducked out of the door. 

 

Elektra waited until the sound of his car faded into the distance before she retrieved the blade. She knew that she hadn't really scared him; she could have hit him if she had wanted to. But she would have done anything to make him shut up. She was too smart not to appreciate what McCabe did for her – and for what it was worth, she considered him the closest thing that _she_ could call a friend – but that didn't mean that she had to like it. She didn't want his help, advice, or pity; and she certainly didn't want his flowers. 

If she were to be completely honest with herself, she was seriously over-reacting about the roses; the pain an the mess were not McCabe's fault, they were hers. _If_ she was honest, it was a problem that she should probably take care of. If just seeing a few flowers had caused her to lose it so completely, what else could she do to herself if another reminder sprang on her unaware? This was something that she needed to deal with. 

...But she had never liked honesty over-much, even before she'd died. And after everything that had happened, she wasn't about to change her opinion. Lies had kept her alive for this long, and they would continue to do so. She'd just have to be careful to avoid gardens for a while. She didn't need anyone's help.

She knew that she was kidding herself for thinking that this would solve her problems, but she didn't care. The pain of lies was not nearly as crippling as that of the truth.


End file.
